


The Aftermath

by DoreyG



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alien Culture, Andalites, Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trick or Treat 2016, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: After the war ends, after Esplin's trial and sentence and imprisonment in a tiny plastic box for the rest of his days, he doesn't return home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellscabanaboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/gifts).



> As it turns out the thought speech marks don't actually work on ao3 due to html reasons, a fact that I only discovered when I went to post. I've replaced them all with (), which causes no such issues, so hopefully that won't prove too distracting!

After the war ends, after Esplin's trial and sentence and imprisonment in a tiny plastic box for the rest of his days, he doesn't return home.

He could, the very day of the trial it is made abundantly clear to him that he could step on the next transport and be at the Andalite homeworld in a matter of weeks, but he doesn't. Instead he walks away from the courtroom in his own body, takes a ground transport to the edge of the forest, leaves it there and gallops until even the distant sounds of civilization fade away.

He finds a patch of land, half forest and half grass. There are no humans, no Andalites, certainly no Yeerks. There are a few lingering bits of native wildlife, all of who either glare at him with fierce eyes or steadily ignore him, but he yells at them with his mind until he's satisfied that they're not secretly in morph.

He is alone. For the first time in years, in _decades_ , he is alone with himself and his thoughts.

He could build a scoop, start a garden outside of it, make sure that everything was perfectly in place and chosen by his own hand. He could wander through the forest for days, gallop across the fields for nights, live out in the open and try to forget that he ever had a voice that wasn't his own in his head. He could kick his heels at the sky, brandish his tail at the trees, roll around in the grass without a single person to sneer at him for being foolish or whisper in concern over his mental state. He could-

He is _alone_.

...He could wait, and see what this often cruel life has in store for him next.

 

\--

 

**Jake**

The first one to visit him out of the Animorphs, to his surprise, is Jake.

He has seen many broken people, not just in the mirrored surfaces of the ponds and streams he can't quite avoid if he wants to survive, and he knew Jake as one of them from the moment he laid his own - his _free_ \- eyes on him. The boy was crumpled even in victory, devastated by all the unavoidable things that he'd done, and that air had only gotten worse over the months. By the time of the trial, he had seemed only a hollow shell of a human being.

...And yet, perhaps there’s more life in that hollow shell than he had first thought. For he glances up one morning, from listlessly avoiding doing the old ritual that he barely remembers, to see the boy striding across the grass towards him - eyes downcast, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he's not quite sure what to do with them anymore.

He serves the boy tea, a human concoction that Esplin- the _Yeerk_ used to be quite fond of, and settles him down in his scoop. They sit there awkwardly together, two old warriors with nothing better to do with their lives, and stare at each other. Jake sips his cup of tea politely, he dangles one hoof into a bowl of it and waits for whatever will happen to happen.

"...Nice place you've got," Jake breaks the silence eventually, taking another sip of his scalding hot drink.

( I know it is not quite to human tastes, ) he offers politely, glad for the fortifying rush of caffeine through his hoof, ( you do not have to spare my feelings, Prince Jake. )

"Don't-!" Jake flinches violently, but narrowly avoids dropping his cup. There's a long few moments of silence, stretching to the point of awkwardness "...I'm not sparing your feelings, or anything, I honestly do think that it's nice."

( Of course. )

"And _don't_ call me that."

( My apologies, ) He thinks, and tilts his head. Even now, after decades of being viciously humbled over and over again, the words do not come easily to him, ( I am just not sure what else I could call you. Andalite scum is both inaccurate and insulting, rebel scum is simply insulting and just Jake... )

"It’s my name," Jake says, trying to sound mild and largely failing. His hands are still too tight around his cup to allow such casualness.

( And yet, seems a little too informal, ) He sighs, is briefly glad that he doesn't need his own cup in his natural form. Forget gripping it tightly, there'd be shards of pottery littered all over the floor, ( Odd, isn't it? We fought each other for so long, you freed me, we are so very alike... And yet, for all that, we don't actually know each other all that well. )

There's a long pause.

"I suppose not," Jake allows, letting out a long huff of air. His fingers ease a little around his cup, but only to the point where he's no longer holding it in a death grip, "we only know the shapes of each other, and not the details."

( Such poetry, ) he huffs, reverting briefly to the creature he used to be - the one who disdained anything other than warfare, and pretended that he had barely encountered culture in his life, ( I appreciate why you would rankle at the title, but it is the only way I feel comfortable addressing you for now. )

"And I suppose I can appreciate that," Jake nods wryly, still tense but smirking through it. Humans have such expressive mouths, it's something that he never really appreciated until the creature in his head was morphing his body into one and deliberately holding back the pleasures of it from him, "you do understand, though? Why I... Uh, rankle?"

( It is an accurate term for it, ) he mentally sniffs, as Jake's smirk turns a touch more wicked.

"I'm just saying, if you're going to accuse me of poetry..." Jake holds up his hands when he narrows his eyes, signals a peace. He can appreciate such a gesture from this boy, if nobody else, "well?"

( Of course I do, ) he sighs, offers his own slight version of a smile as Jake seems to ease just a little bit more, ( it is because you no longer feel like you deserve the title, after everything you have done and all that you have suffered. )

"Long ago, I didn't like it because I didn't really want to take on the responsibility," Jake murmurs, glancing down into his cup of tea with distant eyes, "and then I accepted it, I did take on that responsibility... And look where we ended up. So many Yeerks murdered by my hand, so many others dead due to my negligence, _Rachel_ -"

He waits, as kindly as he can, as Jake briefly chokes off.

"-Yeah, all of that," but Jake is strong, stronger than he thinks at present moment, and so soon recovers. Takes a deep breath, and downs the rest of his tea as if for fortification, "can I ask you something, if it wouldn't be too rude?"

( You have already found my scoop, entered it and drank tea from my finest cup, ) he points out, trying to offer another one of his smiles to show that he doesn't truly mind the intrusion of this poor shattered human all that much, ( A simple question would hardly be a step too far, after all of that. )

Jake takes a deep breath, offers him the very slightest smile. The rest of his face grim, his fingers wrapped tightly around the teacup again as if holding onto a lifeline, "how do you cope, after knowing that you did all of that and can't take any of it back?"

He freezes for a long moment, the last of his tea disappearing slowly and both of his hearts starting to pound quicker than he would like.

( When I find out, ) He says softly, and turns away to get another cup so Jake is spared the stiffening of his eye stalks at the very least, ( I will be sure to let you know. )

 

\--

 

**Aximili**

The next one of the band of Animorphs to visit him is Aximili, and that is far less of a surprise.

Aximili looked weary on the bridge of the Blade ship, and even wearier in the days afterwards. At the trial he looked practically on the point of slumping into sleep on his hooves, so buckled he was under the impact of the war. He is less broken than Jake, he is less broken than many of the Animorphs after the long war that they fought...

But.

Aximili suffered much through the war, and he suffers even now. Nobody can come through that sort of thing smelling of roses, especially not one who has faced as much as Aximili did. He was torn from his people, faced the news of his brother's death in short order, was stranded as the only andalite on an alien planet for at least three years of his still young life. He may not be as broken as the others, but the desperately plastered fault lines still show.

He can see it even now, as the young - so very young, younger than he was the first time he saw battle – Andalite stands outside his scoop and looks ever so uncomfortable, 

( I am returning home, yes, ) Aximili responds, sounding so like one of the human youths that he barely restrains a wince at it, ( and I came to ask- )

( If I will return home with you? ) He asks, already knowing how this conversation will go. Already knowing, if he tells truth, how Aximili's triumphant return 'home' will go, ( the answer is no. )

He has spent too long away from his people, in too difficult circumstances. It is not a bad thing, in many ways it is even a _wonderful_ thing, but it becomes one in light of what Aximili is planning to do. He is more human now than Andalite, closer to the people of this world than the traditional people of the homeworld. It shall be all ribbons and glory for a while, but eventually he will grow restless and then he will grow reckless and there will be no way back from that point on. He's seen it, many times before.

( Then I will change my question, ) even now he can see it happening, in the angry tone of Aximili's mental voice and the harsh narrowing of his eyes. He wonders what that'll look like, in a decade when Aximili desperately wants to return to his true home but can't quite work his way past the built up walls to try, ( Why _won't_ you return home? )

He hesitates for a second, considering his answer and trying not to be too distracted by the sense of inevitability in the air. Aximili continues to stare at him angrily, tail twitching just slightly as if it is the only safe way to let out the complex emotions he feels.

( I- )

( I tried to kill you once, do you remember that? ) Aximili explodes, before he can get more than one overly thought through word out, ( and you told me then, when you lay dying from my attempt, that you had a wife and two children and would do anything to see them again. You are free now, you are able to return to them. _Why_ won't you? )

( Because things change, Aximili, ) he snaps, skipping over the young Andalite's title to hammer home the full impact of his words, ( because homes change, because people change, because views change. I have dreamed for years of being able to return home, yes, of seeing Jahar's warm eyes and hearing my children's laughter. But now that I can- )

...Now that he can, he realizes that Espli- the _Yeerk's_ hold on him goes far deeper than he thought while he was struggling for every scrap of his mind. Realizes that he is just a battered old Andalite warrior, who has failed at everything - failed at everything long before that Yeerk crawled inside his head and took over his mind - and has nothing to show for it apart from the shattered bits of himself. He is worse than Jake, who at least carries his scars with a weary sort of dignity. He is worse than Aximili, who is at least doing something even if it is decidedly the wrong thing. He is worse than _all_ of them.

( Well? ) Aximili still demands, trying to sound forceful but falling at the last hurdle. He has noticed the sudden bitterness in the air, the sorrow of a thing that should've died long ago, ( now that you can? )

( I realize that they would only look at me like you look at me, Aximili. Like a cautionary tale, to be avoided at all costs, ) he says wearily, and turns away. Leaves Aximili to his bad decisions, to his desire to burn up as opposed to simply fading away, ( now leave me be, and try to find your own home along the way. )

 

\--

 

**Rachel**

Sometimes he wishes that his fate had been the same as the lost Animorph, the one who had faced her death so very bravely.

It is a terrible thought, especially now he has seen the scars of her passing in Jake’s eyes and seen the tension left behind by her sacrifice on Aximili’s shoulders, but he cannot help thinking it upon occasion. His mind is his own again, Espl- the Yeerk is far away and unable to interfere, but he still seems to have little control over it. He sits in his scoop sometimes and thinks of death, he runs through the forest in the day and thinks of not existing, he trots across the fields at night and thinks of how much suffering he could still be forced to face.

Maybe that is the meaning of freedom, he thinks sourly in his darker moments. The loss of control, to the point where you feel like nothing more than a mad hermit stuck in the woods.

He wishes he had died, long before he even reached the stars. He wishes that he had been caught unawares as a young _Aristh_ , wiped out in a quick moment and thus never forced to face the rigours of reality. He would’ve never stepped on a Dome ship, never marvelled at the stars above, never embroiled himself in the ways of war. He would’ve never become a fearsome war prince, little better than a criminal with his blade dipped in blood.

He wishes he could’ve been wiped from existence, long before that damned Yeerk had crawled inside his skull and taken over. He wishes that the mythical Ellimist had reached out with one finger, flicked his light out before he had the chance to become a shame to his people. He would’ve never known what it felt like to be a prisoner in his own body, to be forced to morph through no choice of his own, to be made to kill for the sick amusement of another. He would’ve never had to face his people afterwards, see the disgust in their eyes as they regarded their greatest failure.

He wishes that he’d been mercy killed, before having to face freedom again. He wishes that Aximili had taken mercy that one time, or that any of the other Animorphs had ended him nobly in battle. He would’ve never had to face the truth of freedom, the brutal knowledge of his actions, the terrifying realisation that he could do anything with his life now. He would’ve never struggled with what to do next, with how to face an endless future where he was entirely responsible for his own actions.

And sometimes, just sometimes, he wonders if she ever felt the same way. If Rachel ever wished that she’d been cut out of history, stopped literally dead before all of her worst acts. If she had ever longed to be removed before she became an Animorph, wished to be wiped out before she knew the taste of blood on her lips, desperately dreamed of being stopped before she became the butcher that the worst rumours accused her of.

...But then, such thoughts are pointless. He already knows the answer to them, in his second heart where all the truth lies.

( She would be ashamed of you, ) he mutters one night, staring up at the merciless stars amongst which they found her body floating, ( she survived so much, fought so fiercely. She would scorn you, for wishing for anything but. )

The thoughts do not stop, at that. But they do still enough to finally allow him a good night of sleep, and he will take that at least.

 

\--

 

**Marco**

Marco arrives next, and is the only one of the Animorphs to settle down in morph - an Osprey, such a beautifully brutal creature - just outside his Scoop.

...He has to turn away, as bird becomes boy. He has never been squeamish about morphing, unlike some unfortunate recruits that he was unfortunate enough to encounter over the years, but ever since he was freed watching other people change has become difficult at best. He watches the trees instead, the rustle of the slight breeze through the grass, the clear blue sky that seems perfect for flying in.

At least he can get air into his lungs here, he reminds himself as the last rustles of the morph fade away behind him. At least, if the urge took him, he could run and run for miles without once coming into contact with the silvery hull of a ship.

"Sorry for dropping in unannounced," Marco offers cheerfully from behind him. Thankfully stopping his thoughts dead before they can turn to space and traps and the feeling of Esp- the _Yeerk_ firm inside his head, "it's kinda hard to send you a letter to alert you to this sort of thing. Or a text, or an email, or-"

( I am hard to contact, I am aware, ) he says, trying to make his mental voice dry as he finally swings his eye-stalks back around to face the boy, ( let me guess, have you come to visit me to drag me into what you humans call the... Modern age? )

"'What you humans call'? Ugh. Y'know, you sound just like Ax when you-" Marco freezes for a long moment, as if he's just remembered where Aximili has gone and how truly he has tried to abandon all of them. Coughs, and gets quickly back to business like that'll erase the brief flash of bitterness on his face "...Anyhow. Would it be that hard to convince you to get a computer?"

( You're not answering my question, ) he points out, not allowing his brief sense of amusement to grow beyond a flicker.

"And you're not answering mine. Get a modem, dude! It erases _all_ the need for small talk," Marco snorts at him, shakes his head. Hesitates for only a second, before plunging onwards with a precise kind of determination that must've served him well in battle, "I didn't come here just to do that."

If he had an eyebrow, he would arch it. Instead he settles for a flat stare, a long few moments of pointed silence.

"Or to do that at all, really!" Marco doesn't throw up his hands, but it seems a close run thing. Annoyance flashes across his face, but he's pretty sure that he's seen this boy absolutely _furious_ \- at the Yeerk inside his head, at the Yeerk inside his mother's head, at the world in general - so he doesn't flinch in the face of it, "right to the point, aren't you?"

( Marco. )

"I came here," the boy announces, tone deliberate and grand, "to ask you if you wanted to stop being a complete hermit, sequested away deep in the woods where nobody can reach you, and-"

( Return to civilization? ) He asks wearily, preparing himself for a retread of the same conversation he had with Aximili, ( go back to the homeworld? Pretend that the entire war never happened, and act like the war prince I once was? )

"...No," but Marco only frowns at him for a moment, tilts his head in a way that suggests he's being rather dense, "no, dude. Do I look like I want you to have a panic attack? I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come flying with me some time, far _away_ from civilization?"

( I- ) he hesitates for a second, slightly stunned. Shifts on his hooves, and stares in bafflement at the one person who doesn't seem stunned, ( I'm not sure I've ever had a panic attack in my life. )

"Well, _I_ have," Marco says, so bluntly that it almost brings a smile to his eyes. There's no judgement there, no implication of weakness or barely veiled wondering at how one formerly so great could've sunk so low. There's only understanding, a certain calmness like the boy honestly believes that he's not weak at all, "and my mom has, and Jake has and... Look. The best way to give you your first one is to dump you in the middle of a situation that you're not ready to be in, right?"

( Total immersion frequently works better than you'd expect, ) he says cautiously, shifts on his hooves a little more to feel the soothing cool of the grass underneath him, ( at least that's what my tutors said, long ago at the academy. And they- )

"Never had the winner of the 'Worst Yeerk Ever' prize inside their head for decades straight," Marco says flatly, shakes his head like it's obvious, "as much as it may work for others, I'm pretty damn sure it won't work for you. You need small steps, little jumps to get you used to... Well, literally _everything_ again."

Literally everything. Being free, being around people while being free, having no idea what to do with himself for the first time in his life.

( ...And what if even those small steps are too big? ) He has to ask slowly, as hard as it is to admit weakness before another. But, somehow, he gets the impression that Marco gets it - there's no pity in his eyes, only a firm kind of sympathy that he wants to grab at and hold onto as hard as he can, ( what if even the attempt to morph makes me nervous? What if I can't even watch you morph without remembering what it felt like to be a prisoner in my own head? What if I can't even give up the slightest bit of control-? )

Without feeling both hearts pounding within him, having to curl up in a corner of his scoop and breath until the feeling like he's going to lose everything all over again stops washing over him like a tidal wave.

"So maybe you do know what a panic attack feels like after all," Marco murmurs, tone soft but not gentle enough to coddle him to the point of choking, "and the answer to that is simple. We just make those steps smaller, smaller and smaller until your feet stop shaking when you take them. And from there, maybe you'll learn how to walk again. And from there, maybe you'll learn how to run again. And from there..."

They stare at each other for a long few seconds. Marco quiet, but hopeful. His hearts starting to pound within him again, but in a way more hopeful than he's experienced ever since he first came to this place and prepared to settle down to this imperfect life that he felt condemned to.

( I will gallop with you, ) he says slowly, cautiously optimistic - for the first time in decades, for the first time since even before that Yeerk crawled inside his head - under Marco's supportive gaze, ( for a while, at least. )

"That's all I ask, man. That's all I ask."

 

\--

 

**Cassie**

Cassie is the next one of the Animorphs to visit, waiting patiently outside his Scoop one day when he returns from one of his ever more regular gallops.

It’s not close to okay, he’s pretty sure that it’s never going to be anywhere close to okay ever again, but things have gotten... Better, since Marco firmly forced his way into his life. He goes outside now, as opposed to just staying in his scoop for most of the day and staring numbly at the four walls around him. He thinks of his war crimes less, dwells on the barely concealed shame in Aximili’s eyes only infrequently, stares up at the stars and wishes for death hardly ever.

He still can’t quite bring himself to morph yet, but he stopped expecting miracles long ago.

“I thought I’d check up on you, see how you were doing,” Cassie greets him, sounding perfectly sincere. He would’ve hated such sincerity before Es- before the Yeerk crawled inside his head, but now all of his broken pieces find it oddly refreshing, “I hope I’m not-?”

( All of you have acted as if you’re intruding upon me, so far, ) he interrupts her, but not unkindly. He is tired from his run, he needs water, but he still doesn’t hesitate to gesture her after him as he ducks down to enter his scoop, ( I feel like I should apologise, I never meant to give any of you the impression that I hated your company. )

“...You don’t?” Cassie asks, sounding a little confused but deliberately playful as she turns to follow him in.

( You saved me, from... Him, ) he says honestly, digging out a pail of chilled water from the fridge that Marco ordered for him and Jake installed for him while his back was turned, ( you saved your world, and halted the Yeerk invasion dead in its tracks. How could I ever hate the company of heroes such as that? )

“You make us sound far greater than we were,” Cassie tries to laugh, but her tone is wistful. She seems far healthier than the other Animorphs, far healthier than even Marco who looks so very blank when he’s not covering it with loud laughter, but she still quite obviously wears her scars, “and I don’t know. Mainly I think we’re all being polite when we ask stuff like that, but also...”

( Also? ) He asks politely, when she reluctantly trails off.

“I don’t know,” she says reluctantly, shifts a little on her heels as she comes to terms with the fact that she obviously does know and just isn’t saying, “I think we may also fear that our presence may remind you, of all that you’ve been through.”

He freezes, halfway through dipping his hooves into the cool water. Cassie waits him out, genuinely concerned eyes fixed upon his face.

( I... Would not worry about that, ) he says eventually, submerges his hooves all the way and lets the cool water flood into him. And he could just leave it there, he could assuage her worries with fake words and deliberate fronts, but- ( everything reminds me of what I’ve been through, after all. At least you Animorphs actually try to distract me from it. )

“Everything?” Cassie asks, eyes gone wide.

( I was a captive of the Yeerks for decades, ) he reminds her, carefully. And it’s a good thing that he’s never been very talented at being kind, because under Cassie’s concerned eyes he just wants to tell the brutal truth until it burns his mind away, ( a captive of him, and him alone, for as long as I can remember. Everything is tainted by that. I cannot look at the sky without remembering him sneering over your pathetic human clouds, I cannot drink without remembering him grumbling about what it took to keep me alive, I cannot even sleep without awaking breathless from nightmares of screaming for weeks on end with nobody to hear. )

Cassie regards him silently. Eyes wide and tearful, face otherwise mercifully impassive.

( But the worst times aren’t when I remember all my suffering, ) and perhaps it’s that impassivity, that calm reaction to the endless chaos of his thoughts, that enables him to go one step further, ( no, they’re when I remember all the times that I didn’t suffer. I can’t eat, without remembering how he once checked to see what grass was best for my system. I can’t pick up a book, without remembering how we would actually talk to each other like equals sometimes. I can’t even think, without remembering how I kept slipping and referring to him as Esplin within my own mind. )

Cassie keeps staring at him for a long few moments, silently. By this point he’s sure that Jake would’ve just turned away and left, that Marco would’ve screamed at him before doing the same, that Aximili would’ve just swung his tailblade. He waits, with bated breath, for much the same reaction... “You were a slave for decades.”

( Yes, ) he gives slowly, not really sure how it’s going to unfurl from here, ( and I brought even more shame to my people by accepting that. )

“No,” Cassie says, so firmly that even he’s a little cowed by it, “you brought pride to your people by _surviving_ that, by still surviving it even now. You never gave up, you never allowed yourself to just wither away and you kept your sense of self even with so many things trying to tear it away. You adapted, you waited, you grew stronger. And the fact that you’re standing in front of me now, still trying to deal with the guilt of all the understandable and admirable things that you did to stay alive... Well, it’s a miracle.”

Andalites do not cry, and even if they could he likes to think that he would be entirely incapable of it. But as he stands there, staring at Cassie who is regarding him with such honest bravery... He can understand the urge to, for the very first time.

“This war has claimed so many, has left so many wrecks behind,” she says gently, still firmly staring at him. And he knows that she’s thinking of Rachel who is actually dead, and Jake who may well be dead, and Aximili who is desperately running from death, and Marco who is desperately pretending not to be so, “don’t let your darkness convince you that you’re one of them.”

 

\--

 

**Tobias**

He doesn't expect Tobias to ever visit him.

All the Animorphs were broken by the war, he has by now spent enough time with all of them to see the varying fault lines left behind, but Tobias was left the most shattered by his experiences. His father was killed in front of him before he could even acknowledge him as his father, his humanity was lost within a few days of starting the struggle against the Yeerks, his morals were torn away from him one by brutal one while he could do nothing to stop them. And by the time one of the few people he truly seemed to care for was brutally murdered in front of him while he could only stand helpless...

Well. The point is that he has seen war princes, brave Andalites trained from their earliest steps for war, crumple into nothing under far less pressure. He does not expect Tobias, an already fragile seeming boy, to be able to gather himself any better than them. To be able to confront the body, if not the mind, that murdered his father in front of him and plunged his life into a miserable hell.

...But.

He forgot that Tobias was not _just_ a fragile _seeming_ boy, but actually the true son of Elfangor. As such he steps out of his scoop one morning, stretches towards the sky as he absently shakes off sleep... And almost startles right back into his home, as a Red-Tailed Hawk plummets down from the trees and comes to land on a log in front of him.

( What are you doing? ) Tobias demands, while he's still trying to calm the pounding of his hearts.

( What are _you_ doing? ) He demands in return, the polite weariness that he has wrapped around him like a shroud briefly falling away in the face of his shock, ( I may have been chained for years, but I am still proficient with my tail blade. I could've cut you into pieces! )

( And I could've immediately morphed into a Hork-Bajir, and done the same, ) Tobias says darkly, and fluffs up his feathers a little. He only saw the bird-boy at a distance, at least until the brief and painful events of the battle where he was freed, but he gets the impression that he's a great deal less well-groomed than he used to be, ( but this isn't a 'whose blade is sharper' competition. What the hell are you doing, living here in the woods like a hermit? )

( I could ask you much the same question, ) he says stiffly, still trying desperately to calm his hearts down. Andalites are made to startle, and even the details pointing towards Tobias being a half-starved bird aren't quite enough to smooth his mind, ( from what Jake has said- )

( _Don't_ say that name. )

( And from what Marco has said, _and_ from what Cassie has said, you've been doing much the same thing as me, ) he takes in one deep breath, another deep breath. Finally feels, with an oddly sickened feeling in his first stomach, that old numbness settle over him again, ( neither of us are fit for society, not anymore. I thought you, of all creatures, could understand that. )

There's a long moment, a silent one. Tobias turns his head sideways, regards him with one fierce eye. It remains amazing, how all the universe has been open to him and yet he still hasn't found anything more fearsome looking than a simple earth bird.

( Tobias- )

( You were a slave for decades, trapped all alone in your head, ) Tobias says firmly, speaking over him with a determined intensity that actually does the trick of making him stand up straight, ( in all that time the only thing you dreamed of, and don't try and lie to me and say that you didn't, was returning home and seeing your family again. Except now, that you're free... You've made absolutely no move to do so. )

( I've already had this conversation with Aximili, ) he offers stiffly, shifting a little on his hooves. The blanket of numbness is wrapped around him again, yes, but... Somehow it seems somewhat itchier, than it did before, ( and I will tell you what I told him, I have my reasons. )

( And those reasons are bull, ) Tobias interrupts boldly, glaring at him like he's daring him to speak back, ( and _not_ why Ax probably thought they were, before you start on that. )

( Enlighten me, ) he retorts tersely anyway, resisting the urge to cross his arms across his chest. It is something that E- the Yeerk would've done, when his body was morphed into human form - and those days are long ago now, getting further away by the moment, ( why are my reasons, which are perfectly logical and perfectly my own, 'bull'? )

( Because as one person who's lost everything to another, they can't be anything but, ) Tobias says, and his mental tone is so honest that it burns right through the last of the blanket of numbness until only a world of uncomfortable feeling remains, ( Trust me. I lost my father, I've practically lost my mother. I've lost all of my friends because of the choices we made, and I lost _Rachel_. And you... You've lost just as much. )

( Have I? ) He asks, shifting uncomfortably under the surge of emotion. The pinch of it, the burn of it, the _freedom_ of it prickling across his skin like the sweetest breeze.

( You lost your wife, your son, your daughter, ) Tobias replies flatly, so honest that he feels a grudging surge of respect at it, ( you lost your job, your standing in the military, the respect of your people. Hell, you even lost your _freedom_. )

He hesitates for a long second, the numbness urging him to look away. Instead meets Tobias' gaze head on, like the warrior he was long ago.

( ...But it doesn't have to remain lost. )

( I am incapable of time travel, so those many years I spent as the Visser's puppet will remain lost, ) he snaps, but can't summon up too much venom behind it. His mind, that has been slowly waking up ever since Jake wandered back into his life, finally feels alert again - sharp like a knife, capable of seeing the universe as a place of promise as opposed to a terrifying stretch of chaos, ( I will always be an abomination to my people, a shame to the military, an example of how to do the job I once held so dear wrong. So I don't see- )

( Your daughter still waits for you, ) Tobias interrupts him, matter of fact, ( your son still loves you, your wife still longs for you to return home to her. You've lost everything else, but it'll take a hell of a lot more than that to completely lose them. )

He hesitates for a second, frozen in place despite himself.

( And take it from me, the bird boy with nobody left to love, ) Tobias lets out a hollow mental laugh, ruffles his feathers again, ( that's the only thing that matters, in the end. )

\--

After Tobias leaves he sits in his Scoop for a long few minutes, silent. The woods rustle around him, the walls creak, if he listens really hard he can hear the scuttle of wild feet across his floor. But none of it matters to him, not really. There are far bigger, far better, things to focus on.

...Freedom.

For the first time in years, for the first time since the Yeerk crawled inside his skull and made it his own, he is _free_.

Another long moment in silence, the one he's been sitting in so long that the outside world has started to grow dark, and then he rises. Trots outside, and fixes all four eyes upon the stars. The Andalite homeworld is far away, so far away that you can't even really see the galaxy that it's situated in from Earth, but he's been doing this for a good while. He focuses his eyes on the section of space closest to it, the rough quadrant that contains his home.

Freedom.

He is free. For the first time in years, since even before that Yeerk crawled inside his head, he is free to go home.

And the war has taken so much from him, Tobias spoke truly in that regard. It has left him as broken as Jake, as angry as Aximili, as lost as Rachel, as hidden as Marco, as sad as Cassie, as removed as Tobias. _But_ -

...Freedom.

Unlike all of the Animorphs, he is finally - irreversibly - _free_.

He closes all four of his eyes, tilts his head back to the darkness for a long few moments. Then takes a deep breath, spins on his hooves and heads rapidly back into his Scoop. He has been gathering electronic panels dumped in the woods for some time now, more to ease his galloping path than anything else. It will be easy enough to contact Jahar, and from there arrange a passage back to the homeworld, and from there... 

Well, he is free. A whole universe is waiting for him out there, and he intends to appreciate it.


End file.
